The Best Thing After All
by buggyswifter
Summary: A day Dean and Sam both had been dreading goes wrong in a very unusual and unexpected way.


Title: The Best Thing After All

Summary: A day Dean and Sam both had been dreading goes wrong in a very unusual and unexpected way.

Spoilers: None

Rating: T - Some raw language - nothing too earth shattering

Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of others.

A/N: This is set toward the end of Season 2 shortly before All Hell Breaks Loose, Part 1.

It was the sudden silence that woke Dean. Sam had pulled into the motel parking lot. The red neon reflected off the windshield and gave a real creep factor to his little brother's already sullen expression.

Dean cleared his throat and twisted his head from side to side. His efforts were rewarded with the crack and pop of his joint spaces. He drug his dirty hand down his equally dirty face and watched Sam. His brother hadn't moved a muscle since they stopped.

"Dude," he finally asked, "you okay?"

Sam seemed to startle out of deep thought and turned his head toward his brother with a nod. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just thinking." He mirrored his older brother's neck stretch and created some unique noises all his own. "How's your head?"

Dean automatically raised his hand to the bleeding bump above his left ear and winced. "Okay, just a monster headache. Is there some reason the ghosty always has to toss me into a tree?" Dean asked as he slowly exited the Impala. "I mean, is it possible there is some sort of chemical in my head that attracts the nearest cement monument or tree? Did they teach you anything about that in college?"

Sam chuckled as he got out of the car. He turned to look across the shiny metal roof at his beat up older brother. "Do you mean, does your wooden brain attract itself to the nearest wooden object, kind of like a magnet? Hmmm," he feigned giving this idea thoughtful consideration, "interesting concept."

"Ha. Ha. College boy. I might have attractive wood, but it isn't in my brain."

Sam rolled his eyes as he unlocked the motel room door. "Dean, that's just gross."

"Jealous." Dean tried to waggled his eyebrows at his little brother, but the bump on his head hindered the effect.

"Child." Sam responded.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

Dean allowed himself a small victory grin, he knew exactly what to say to pull his brother out of one of his moods. He just hoped he caught this one before it became the full fledged Sam Winchester sulk. If he could keep his brother distracted long enough to clean up, eat something and sit still for a few minutes Dean was fairly sure that Sam would give in to the exhaustion they both were feeling.

The brothers fell seamlessly into their post-hunt routine. Sam checked the salt lines and secured the room. Dean double checked the salt lines and drew protective sigils with clear wax pencil on the walls. Sam added a couple extra, grabbed the weapons bag and tossed it on the table. Dean grabbed two beers out of the mini fridge and begin cleaning the weapons. Sam took his beer and began nagging Dean about checking his injuries.

They each played their part, the parts they had played since childhood, something oddly comforting in the routine. Unfortunately it was that very same casual routine that tripped Dean up.

"Dude, I should look at that knot on your head, and I'm betting you have some other scrapes and bruises that might need attention. Finish this stuff up later." Sam set the first aid kit on the bed.

"Sam, do you have to nag me every time? Dad taught us that unless there is a life threatening injury, care and cleaning of the weapons always comes first," Dean pointed his finger back and forth between the two of them, "and neither of us have a life threatening injury."

Sam froze. He didn't play his next part, which was to tell Dean that he didn't understand why he was always dad's perfect little soldier. Instead his expression turned sullen, he drained his bottle of beer and grabbed another.

"You're right," Sam popped the cap on his beer and downed it in four giant gulps, "suppose today of all days we should honor what dad said."

"Shit." Dean cursed his own stupidity under his breath. He had fallen face first into the exact topic he had been desperately trying to avoid.

Today would have been John Winchester's 55th birthday.

Dean had guessed Sam was going to have issues with the day and thought maybe, just maybe, if he kept his brother busy in a hunt, focused on saving people, he might make it through the day and keep Sam falling into the pit of sorrow, anger and self pity that his brother had been digging. Dean absently rubbed his aching head. He had been using that strategy on himself too, working non-stop, burying himself in the job, trying desperately to shut off his own thoughts and feelings. He just didn't know if he had the strength to deal with Sam's heavy heart in addition to his own.

Since evasion hadn't worked, Dean tried the head-on approach.

"Sam, how about I get cleaned up and we head out for dinner." If I can keep it down, he thought to himself. Jeeze, but he his head hurt. "The room is covered for the night. Maybe we could even head to a local bar and toast dad's birthday. Score some cash if we are lucky. You and me, fleecing the natives, if anything would make dad proud that would be it." Celebrating their dad's birthday or not, they needed to hustle some coin. Dean had enough for a meal and a tank of gas, with the quality of the meal being questionable.

"Sure Dean, whatever you want." Sam took another beer from the fridge. "You shouldn't drink too much though," Sam pointed the open beer bottle in his brothers' direction, "not with that knot on your head. Sure yooz okay?"

Dean registered that this was Sam's fourth beer in the last five minutes. His little brother had also just used the word "yooz". Not good. When was the last time Sam had agreed with anything Dean wanted to do? Obviously little brother made his plan for the evening, to get completely shit-faced. As usual Sam's timing sucked ass. Dean would have been thrilled to bar hop and hustle with a willing companion on most any other night. But tonight, with his vision swimming and his stomach rolling, getting bombed held little appeal.

"Sure thing Sam. Tell you what, I'll be your designated driver tonight." Dean grabbed his shaving kit and dumped his duffle out in his search of his last reasonably clean clothes. "Just let me clean up and we'll head out."

Sam just nodded sullenly and took a long drink from the bottle he was holding.

Soon Dean was standing under the pulsating showerhead, letting the heat loosen his tense muscles. More than once he had to brace his hands on the sides of the shower stall as a wave of dizziness washed over him. When the water started cooling he turned off the tap and toweled dry. He took a little extra time shaving and then cared for the cut on his head which had started oozing again after being cleaned in the shower. He was very careful and deliberate in his movements, trying his best to avoid aggravating the pain in his head. Dean knew the symptoms and realized that he most likely had a mild concussion. A quiet evening in the hotel would be the best thing for him. Unfortunately, besides dealing with sullen Sammy there was also the need to hustle a little cash. Being able to take advantage of 'the best thing' rarely figured into the life of a Winchester.

Dean downed a couple ibuprofen with a slurp of water from the facet. He barely noticed the other bruises and scrapes that made themselves known in the shower. He was used to sucking it up and moving on. That was his plan tonight. Dad would be proud.

"Suck it up, Deano," or "Watch over your little brother," and his all time favorite "Don't screw up." All patented John Winchester pearls of wisdom. Dean looked at his own reflection in the glass and tried not to think of how much he missed his father. Instead of his usual health tan his skin was pale. His face held that pinched look of underlying pain and the dark circles under his eyes looked like bruises. "Yep Deano," he said to himself, not realizing how much he sounded like his dad, "suck it up."

Dean exited the bathroom and realized that he had taken more time than he intended. The room was quiet. Where the hell was his brother? Dean tried to fight down the panic as he noticed the contents of his duffle were a little more scattered than he had left them. The bottle of Jack that he had stored there was now sitting empty on the night stand.

That little shit! How much had been left in that bottle? He tried to remember the last time he had taken a drink. It was right after the djinn, he had wanted to drown his sorrows but realized that he had little taste for hard liquor. He was pretty sure there had been about a quarter of a bottle.

Dean grabbed his jacket and flipped open the his cell. He was relieved to find his car keys on the nightstand between the two beds, right where Sam had left them. He stepped into the fresh night air and immediately had to steady himself against another wave of dizziness. He was leaning against the motel room door taking deep steadying breaths and for a second didn't register that someone was talking on the other end of the phone.

"Hello? Sammy, are you there?"

Muttering voices and music could be heard on the other end, along with a noise that sounded suspiciously like giggling.

"Hello?" Dean yelled. "Sammy, can you hear me?"

"Is 'dis my brother?" Came a sing song voice.

"Sam? Sam is that you? Where the hell are you?" Dean's frustration and anger pushed the nausea and dizziness into the background.

"Dean! Hey, hey guys! It's my brother. Dean. How the hell are ya?"

"How am I? I'll tell you how I am Sam. I am royally pissed off right now. Where the hell are you? Are you alright? Who is there with you?" Dean made his way to the car but rather than get in looked around the area. A drunk Sam on foot couldn't have gone very far and there weren't too many places to go in this rinky dink town.

"Questions, questions. Dude, always with the questions! I'm right….right….here. I whiskey your drink….he he…I mean I drink your whiskey…drank….drank your whiskey. I came here to get you some more and you'll never guess what happened! Right guys? Hey guys, want to talk to my brother? He is poyally rissed at me right now."

Good God! Dean thought to himself. His brother was totally wasted. Five bottles of beer and several shots of whiskey would do that to a guy, especially a lightweight in the drinking department like Sam.

"Sam? Sam…tell me where you are and I'll come and get you." Dean was scanning the street, there was a bar on either end of the next block, and both had off-sale. There were a couple others a few blocks over. Which one would Sam head to? "Sam, are you still there?" There were more muffled voices in the background that sounded like guys laughing.

"Hey Dean. Larry said you can come and get me. Can you come and get me? Larry said I should get my drunken ass outta here for my own good. Maybe you could come and get me? Can you come and get me? All of me, not just my drunken ass. Hey Dean, honest man, my ass hasn't had anything to drink. The rest of me, well maybe just a little." More giggles from Sam, more laughter in the background.

Christ on a cracker! Dean was losing patience with his little brother. "Sam." He tried to keep his voice controlled. "Tell me where you are!"

"Where you are? I'm here, right guys? Hey Larry, I'm here aren't I? Yep Dean, I'm here." More laughter.

Dean absently rubbed at his aching head. "Sam, let me talk to Larry."

"You know Larry? Dean, how (hiccough)…how do you know Larry?"

"Dammit Sammy, let me talk to Larry!"

"Jeesh, okay already. Larry? Hey Larry. My bro (hiccough) ..my bro (hiccough) ….my….(burp). Hey Larry? Dean wants to talk to you."

A new voice came on Sam's phone. "Yeah?"

"Hey, is this Larry?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, I'm guessing this is Dean, right?" He laughed. Dean was pretty sure it sounded more amused than angry or mean.

"Yeah, this is Dean. Listen Larry, it sounds like my brother has had a little too much to drink. Just tell me where you are and I'll come and get him." Please, please, please don't let this guy be a jerk Dean wished silently.

"We are at Logger Larry's, across from Holy Family church. Sam said you guys are staying at the Pine Edge Inn, right?"

"That's right, but if you could just hang on to him for a couple minutes, I'll be there to get him." Dean opened the door and was ready to slide behind the wheel.

There were mumbled voices Dean couldn't make out talking in the background. "Dean, normally that wouldn't be a problem . But considering the circumstances I'm gonna have someone drop him off at the motel."

"Circumstances? What the hell kind of circumstances?" Dean yelled at the phone only to get a dial tone in response.

Dean went back into their room and paced in front of the window, keeping watch for his brother. It didn't take long for a sheriff's SUV to pull up next to the impala. "Shit!" Dean mumbled to himself. "What the hell did Sam get himself into?"

Before the sheriff could knock Dean pulled the door open. There was his 'little' brother, leaning heavily on the equally 'little' sheriff. His brother was grinning like a dope from ear to ear.

"Dean! Hey there Dean! How ya doing?" Sam's head swung around like he had a noodle for a neck. He looked at the sheriff and whispered, "That's my brother, Dean." The noodle neck swung back in Dean's direction. "He's making his 'I wanna kick Sammy's ass' face." Sam giggled at his choice of words. "I said ass face! That's funny! Haha……ass face!"

"This yours?" The sheriff asked.

Dean thought the sheriff looked to be in his mid to late 40's. He had a couple inches on Sam in addition to about 50 lbs. Dean really hoped they weren't going to have any trouble, the guy looked like a tank. The sheriff seemed to be surveying their room, trying to decide if these guys were trouble or not. Dean couldn't help but be relieved that he had repacked all their weapons into the duffle. He probably had more firepower in their motel room than the sheriff had in his whole department. That could have caused a problem.

"Yeah," Dean couldn't keep the grin off his face, "he's mine alright. Thanks for bringing him back."

Sam was swaying away from the sheriff, who gave him a gentle nudge into the room. He suddenly remembered the paper sack in his hand. "Look Dean, I brought you beesechurgers!" He held the sack up triumphantly.

"That's great, Sam. Why don't you set them on the table and sit down before you fall down?" He turned his attention to the sheriff and asked "Larry said something about complications? Did Sam get into some sort of trouble? He really wasn't gone that long."

The sheriff drug his giant paw of a hand down his face. "Not what I would call trouble, really." Without waiting for in invitation he stepped into the motel room while saying "I'm Sheriff Russell, mind if I come in for a minute?" He closed the motel room door behind him.

Dean was instantly on alert. He casually moved to place himself closer to Sam, the need to constantly protect his little brother so completely ingrained in him that he wasn't even consciously aware of his movements.

"Sure Sheriff, come on in." Dean sat on the side of his bed, within easy reach of the nickel-plated Colt under his pillow.

The sheriff sat at the small table just inside of the door. Sam was at the other end of the table, working his way through a cheeseburger. "Wanff wom?" He shoved one toward the sheriff.

The sheriff smiled again and just shook his head. "No thanks, son. If I were you I would take it easy though. Those burgers aren't going to be so tasty the next time you see them."

Dean couldn't help but guffaw at that comment – he had been thinking the same thing.

"So Sheriff Russell," Dean asked, "what's up?"

"Nothing really. I just wanted to make sure your brother got back safe and sound."

"Why wouldn't he?"

"Well, you see son, your brother picked a bad time to wonder into Larry's bar. It's payday at the sawmill. They are nice guys, really they are. But give them a little cash, a little too much to drink and a little too much time on their hands and sometimes there is trouble."

"Sorry Sheriff, but I still don't get what this has to do with my brother." He looked over at the brother in question to see him squirting ketchup packets directly into his mouth stuffed full of French fries. "Sam! Knock that shit off!"

Sam looked up with the classic drunk 'dazed and confused' look on his face. "What?" He asked before pulling a full bottle of whiskey out of the bag. "Bingo!" He yelled happily as he washed down the ketchup and fry mess with a gulp straight from the bottle.

The sheriff just shook his head. "Anyway, Sam here stumbled into the bar a little bit ago, no big deal. He had a drink. The guys in the bar like to gamble away their money on those stupid pull tabs. So your brother here buys himself a couple too. Wouldn't you know it – he won the top prize in the box - $1,000 cash." The sheriff pulled a stack of bills out of his shirt pocket and handed it to an astonished Dean.

"What started out as all fun and jokes with the drunk kid in the bar started to turn ugly when he won what those good ol' boys thought of as "their" money. Larry's my kid brother, I was there grabbing myself something to eat and thought it would be best to get your happy drunken brother out of there before the guys decided to find a way to fleece him out of his winnings, or worse."

Dean sat dumbfounded on the bed staring at the wad of cash in his hand.

"Dean! I won! I got three water (hiccough)….three water (hiccough)…..three watermelons (burp)….ewww that was gross…… and the red line! That's the big money winner, Dean!" Sam's eyes weren't quite seeming to blink in unison anymore and he was getting a pale tint to face as he leaned back in his chair.

The sheriff got up and turned to go. "Thought it would be in his best interest to buy a couple rounds of drinks for the guys. That, plus the burgers, fries and the bottle of good stuff he bought for his dad's birthday….well, that leaves about $900."

Dean finally found his voice. He shoved the cash in his pocket and held out his hand to the sheriff. "I don't know what to say. I can't thank you enough Sheriff for watching out for my brother. He doesn't usually do this, you might have noticed he can't really hold his liquor." It was a rare occasion for Dean to appreciate the help of any law enforcement officer and he was truly sincere in his thanks.

"No problem." Sheriff Russell took Dean's hand in a firm handshake and gave him a look of genuine kindness. "I'm just guessing that your daddy isn't around anymore to share in that bottle?"

Dean had to look away. "No sir," he managed quietly.

"I remember the first birthday Larry and I spent after our father died. He ended up with a tattoo that said 'Daddy' on his chest. I woke up naked in the neighbors strawberry patch. Had a rash on my ding-a-ling for weeks. Don't know if it was the strawberries or the neighbor's daughter." He gave a mischievous wink, "You boys take care of yourselves now, hear?" With that he turned and left.

A genuine chuckle escaped Dean as he watched the sheriff drive off. Memories of a few happier times with their dad floated through his head and instead of pushing them into the dark corners of his mind he decided to let a few linger.

"Dean?" Sam's voice brought Dean back to matters at hand.

"Hmm?" He looked at his brother who was turning an interesting shade of green.

"I'm not feeling so good. I think there was something wrong with those burgers."

"The only thing wrong with those burgers is that they landed in the lake of booze you have in your stomach. Why don't you lie down for a while Sam. I have a feeling you are going to be driving the porcelain bus soon enough." Dean helped a subdued Sam into his bed, pulled off his shoes, dimmed the lights and made sure he had easy access to a clean garbage can.

"Naw," Sam said with a giant whiskey smelling yawn, "I don't want to go anywhere tonight." Sam curled onto his side. "Dean, how's your head?"

Dean grabbed the sack of burgers and stretched out on his own bed to watch some quiet television before the post binge drinking fun started.

"Better Sammy, I'm feeling better." Sometimes just being a Winchester was the best thing after all.

A/N If you read, please review – I'm not above begging for a little ego stroking!


End file.
